


Wonderland

by thanks_its_versace



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alice In Wonderland AU, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homoerotic chess game, M/M, Moving On, Past Character Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unpacking trauma but make it ~sexy~, the boys are all characters from wonderland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:07:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29468439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanks_its_versace/pseuds/thanks_its_versace
Summary: Following the untimely death of his lover, Wooyoung’s life has taken a self-destructive spiral of cheap alcohol, cheaper sex, and a deathly fear of driving.That is, until one peculiar night on the town when, after encountering a stranger with a rabbit’s face, a broken watch, and a pink neon sign for “Wonderland”, Wooyoung finds himself trapped in a dreamlike world where he must face the very things he fears most.Can all his problems be solved with the push of a button, or are Wonderland and its promises too good to be true?
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Side/ Minor Relationships
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. Shock

**Author's Note:**

> Aka the creepy alice in wonderland inspired ateez fic you never knew you wanted.
> 
> Enjoy the ride!!
> 
> xo Versace

Wooyoung didn’t believe in happy endings.

He didn’t believe in fairy godmothers, glass slippers, princesses in sparkling gowns, floating castles in the clouds, or magic fairy dust.

He didn’t believe in the power of “true love’s kiss” or in instant, sparks-are-flying-and-we’re-on-a-boat-and-animals-are-singing-and-suddenly-I-want-to-kiss-you love at first sight.

He didn’t even believe in love.

Not anymore, at least.

Of course, it hadn’t always been this way. There was a time that he did believe in fairy tales. A time when he wasn’t so jaded and cynical towards the world and towards any notion that things could possibly be better. A time he saw the world through rose coloured lenses and felt sparks when he kissed and believed that true love could really exist.

But not anymore.

Not since his pink lenses had been torn from his eyes and crushed beneath the heavy heel of reality until they were nothing but fine powder slipping through his fingers.

Now he saw the truth.

Magic was nothing more than the harsh burn of liquor on his tongue, dimming the world into a bleary mindlessness and blending the colours along the edges of his vision, dulling his misery until he could almost remember what it felt like to be happy.

Love was nothing more than something you made at night with faceless strangers who reeked of sex and smoke and never stayed till morning.

And happy endings?

What a joke.

How could an ending ever be happy?

No, Wooyoung didn’t believe in those things anymore.

Not since the fateful day that every single hope for such was ripped from his arms without a goodbye. The day his rose-coloured lenses had shattered along with the glass of the windshield. The day life had proven without a shadow of a doubt,

That no ending would ever be happy.

-

The room glowed red.

Moody neon lights lined the ceilings and staircases and the outline of the bar Wooyoung found himself tucked against. Bass hammered heavy in his chest, rolling low and deep and deafening, muffling the shrieking voices and mindless chatter around him.

Faceless people brushed past him, writhing bodies glistening with sweat and draped in silks and satins, velvets and leather, with their chains and rhinestones glittering under the low lights like the reflection of stars on the rolling ocean waves, dipping and vanishing and reappearing with the movement of the curling bodies and flashing lights.

The air reeked of sweat, smoke, and sex, the acidic undertones of alcohol slipping through in an intoxicating aroma of sensuality and sin.

Raising the cool glass to his lips, Wooyoung took a slow sip of his own drink, the liquid far too artificially sweet and fruity on his tongue but yet doing nothing to lessen the burn as it went down.

It was a heady sensation, being pressed there between the surge of bodies and the sturdy support of the bar, the music drowning out his thoughts, and the alcohol drowning out his worries.

He was dressed up just as extravagantly as those around him, perhaps even more so with a sheer, powder blue blouse draped over his shoulders, the silhouette of his skin visible through the gauze, with nothing but a few delicate buttons at his waist keeping him from being completely topless.

Before leaving for the night, he’d spent well beyond an hour in his bathroom with a glass of shitty wine, a joint, and an excessive amount of glittery eye shadow pallets, perfecting his sultry smoky eye look that had nearly become his staple by now.

In fact, clubwear had become his staple by now.

Nighttime was practically the only time he could manage to drag himself from his sad little apartment. When the shadows crept in and hours grew late and the house turned quiet. Too horribly quiet.

It wasn’t supposed to be that way, you see.

When they’d first bought it… together… it had been perfect. Everything was.

The kitchen had been filled with dancing, slow romantic waltzes as an assortment of pots bubbled on the stovetop, dramatic recreations of scenes from musicals while the coffee brewed during a well needed study break, or even the stupid jumping and flailing to pop songs while the popcorn slowly cooked in the microwave.

The living room was filled with art, none of which was Wooyoung’s doing.

Paintings and tapestries and plants in mismatched pots and little colourful figurines that would help “liven the place up”.

Now they stood as lonely sentinels, guarding the empty apartment as Wooyoung slipped into his platform sneakers and slipped his phone into his pocket, pausing for little more than a moment to look back at the still room before flicking off the light to leave for the night.

And there was the bedroom.

Wooyoung hated that room the most.

The bedroom with the queen-sized bed that he knew he should replace because it was just too big. It was too big and too wide and too empty for only one.

And hanging overtop the bed was the string of polaroid pictures, pictures Wooyoung had one by one turned to face the wall.

Reminders.

That’s all they were.

Reminders of something he’d rather not recall.

And the wardrobe, overflowing with clothing that Wooyoung couldn’t wear. Clothing that wasn’t his. Clothing Wooyoung couldn’t bring himself to remove.

So, he just let it take up space.

Just like everything else in that damn apartment, he just let it take up the space he didn’t need. The room for two.

The extra space that had never been intended for him.

This is why nearly every night like clockwork, his routine would continue on the same. As the night crept in and the house settled for the night, the aching loneliness in his gut would bubble up and threaten to burst.

Suddenly, he would always become so painfully aware of it all. The emptiness. The quiet. The stillness.

The stark, disgusting contrast to how it was meant to be. A shell of the house it once was. A memory of the home it used to be.

So Wooyoung would distract himself, putting on his elaborate attire. It was meditative, really, the way he would slip into the slinkiest blouse he could find, the tightest pants he could muster, and as much jewelry as he could fit onto his person.

Then he would spend hours in the washroom on his hair and makeup, layering the concealer beneath his eyes and packing on the dark eyeshadow until the deep lines and purple bruises carved into his face from sleepless night after sleepless night turned into something sexy and intentional.

It was like stepping into an alter ego.

The process of removing the evidence of his misery and exhaustion and turning himself into something beautiful and confident switched him into a headspace where he could nearly believe that it was true. That he was sexy, confident… happy.

It was a mask. Protective, hiding himself from the rest of the world, while still allowing himself to be a part of it. His physical self took over while his mind numbed and dulled to oblivion.

And so tonight began like any other, with one last, lingering stare into the empty apartment, before he swung the door shut, lowering his mask firmly and resolutely in place.

He’d sashayed his way down several city blocks in the cold until the red sign of FEVER Nightclub came into view. It was far too cold out to make the walk anything other than brutal, but he had no alternative, so he simply plodded on in his platform Docs.

The line outside was never long. He’d flirted with the bodyguard enough times to get in with little more than a wink and a quick slap on the ass.

He wished he minded.

Immediately upon entering, he’d made a beeline for the bar, a route he could walk blindfolded at this point even with the pulsing groups of bodies in the way. And, like always, he set up camp on the corner bar stool, close enough to get a refill every time his drink neared the bottom of his glass, and far enough to avoid being spilled on or hit on by wasted clubgoers.

It was also a convenient vantage point to scope out any potential company for the night.

Anything to make the queen-sized bed feel a little bit smaller.

He looked good tonight. He knew he did. He had made sure of it. Hair styled to perfection, intentionally mussed, messy enough to give someone the wrong idea, eyes smoked out and half lidded from a combination of the alcohol and deliberate schooling of his features. The piece de la resistance: leather pants that clung to his thighs like a second skin and which he knew made his butt look phenomenal.

Each and every one a part of his façade, the mask he’d made for himself.

It wasn’t a disguise. He had nothing to hide, no reason to misguide anyone. No, it was a wall. It was a barrier between himself and the world… It was protection.

Protection from the one thing that he knew could hurt him.

But never again, he promised himself.

Never again.

You see, love can’t hurt you if you don’t let it.

Love can’t hurt you if you never let yourself remember their names or their faces, if you make sure they’re gone by the morning, if you move on by the evening.

Love can’t hurt you if you don’t let it stay.

Thus, began his ritual.

Donning his mask, his handmade persona, and walking the few city blocks to the club where the neon sign beckoned like a runway landing strip and promising of all the heart could desire.

Slipping inside and sliding up to the bar, downing enough shots to get him just past the point of tipsy that he could pretend it wasn’t a bad idea, and wait.

Like bait in a trap he waited, but never for long.

He was used to the looks, the smirks, the rough hands, and the heated gazes from across the bar. Over time, he had grown accustomed to the attention until he began to positively revel in it.

Like this, he felt invincible. Daring.

Bold.

Bold enough that when a hand slid onto his lower back, far too low to be accidental, he leaned into it with little more than a quick once-over of the stranger behind him. He would do.

Bold enough that when the man tugged him out towards the dance floor, he didn’t even hesitate to follow.

Bold enough to lean into the stranger’s body as they grinded and moved in time with the beat, pushed closer and closer together on all sides from the surging crowd.

Bold enough that when lips caught his own, he didn’t even stop to think before he was kissing back just as fervently.

Bold enough to allow a pair of hands to wander, his own safely curled on the man’s chest, not pushing him away, but not pulling him closer, just… allowing it to happen.

Bold enough that he hardly noticed how wrong it felt.

Bold enough that he didn’t even feel disgusted by the question of _more_ and the promise of _later_. Bold enough to not feel the usual pang of guilt at how easily he agreed.

Bold enough that he nearly convinced himself he was actually brave.

And not the coward who was only pretending to be strong.

-

The cold air of the evening outside the club brought Wooyoung a little more to his senses. Alcohol still coursed through his bloodstream, fogging his vision and slurring his thoughts and words.

But he wasn’t drunk enough not to register the cab that the man had flagged down and was currently tugging him towards.

He wasn’t drunk enough not to understand that the door was being held open for him and two pairs of eyes were on him, eyebrows raised in silent questions as he simply stood, frozen to the sidewalk.

He wasn’t drunk enough to have forgotten.

“I don’t like cars,” he blurted.

The man laughed, eyebrows raised in confusion, “Come on, I’ll pay. It’s fine.”

He reached a hand forward to grab Wooyoung’s wrist.

Shaking his head quickly, Wooyoung retreated one step, “No. I don’t go in cars.”

The man stared at him in disbelief, “How the fuck did you think you’d come back to my place? Come on, baby, just get in the car.”

Stepping forward, he gripped Wooyoung’s forearm and tugged him stumbling forwards. Wooyoung tried to yank his arm free, but with the alcohol weighing him down, his movements were far too weak and sloppy to do much, and the man simply tightened his grip.

“I changed my mind,” Wooyoung attempted to pry the hand away from his arm. He was trying to hide the panic steadily rising in his chest, but the quiver in his voice betrayed him, “I don’t wanna go anymore.”

“Like hell you don’t,” the man snarled, jerking Wooyoung closer, “I bought you seven drinks. _Seven_. I don’t even spend that much on my _girlfriend_ , and this is how you’re gonna fuckin thank me?” His other hand circled behind Wooyoung to grip him tightly by the collar of his shirt and shove him stumbling forwards to the open door of the cab, “This is the last time I’m gonna ask nicely y’hear? Next time I won’t be so considerate.” Lips brushed Wooyoung’s ear then, and he nearly gagged at the stench of alcohol on the man’s breath, “Now, _get in the car_.”

With the panic hammering in his chest and the alcohol blurring his thoughts, Wooyoung did the only thing he could think to do.

He slammed his foot down on the other man’s, and, feeling the grip on his shirt loosen up in response, twisted himself out of his grasp before taking off down the street.

Streetlights and headlights blended and distorted together as he shoved past pedestrians, his heartbeat hammering in his ears at the furious shouts of the man faintly audible over the sound of traffic.

Despite how distant they sounded, he wasn’t about to risk turning to check. So, he ran.

His chest was heaving and lungs burning, the sidewalk in front of him was dipping and turning and swimming in his vision, but he just kept running, the fear pushing him onward with no other thought in his head but to _get away_.

One hand fumbled in his pocket, searching for his phone. He didn’t know who he would even call. A friend? The police? Yanking the device free from the leather confines of his pants, his fingers scrambled frantically across the dim screen to get to the phone keypad.

However, as he rounded a tight corner, his foot caught on the steep edge of the curb, and he suddenly found himself stumbling forward and into the road.

His phone flew from his hand and clattered across the pavement.

Wooyoung had barely managed to catch himself and keep himself from landing flat on his face when a blinding light took over his vision. Looking up, he found a giant pair of headlights, impossibly close to him, and drawing closer with each passing second.

Mind numbing horror glued his feet to the concrete under the realization that he was standing in the middle of the street.

Directly in the path of a bus.

But before he even had time to move, arms circled around him and tugged. Wooyoung stumbled forwards into a firm chest, a steadying arm wrapping around him and holding him close.  
Wooyoung didn’t know what else to do so he simply clung right back and braced himself for the impact that he _knew_ was inevitable. His face was buried in a stranger’s shirt, and all he could do was stand there, in the stranger’s arms, and wait.

How ironic that this would be his way to go.

Seconds passed. Then several more.

But the impact never came.

After several long moments, the stranger straightened, their grip releasing and hands moving from Wooyoung’s waist up to his shoulders where they gently pried him away. Slowly, Wooyoung removed his face from the silky shirt in front of him and looked up.

To find a rabbit staring back at him.

Mind spinning from a mixture of the alcohol and the adrenaline, Wooyoung blinked several times in an attempt to process the sight before him.

The stranger was dressed in a slinky white blouse, almost sheer, dipping low on his collarbones, and in high waisted white trousers that hugged long thin legs down to where they brushed the tops of matching white boots,

And he had a rabbit mask obscuring his entire face.

Wooyoung may have been drunk but he was also 120% sure that it was NOT Halloween.

So, he could only come up with one logical conclusion to this: he was dead. He had died and was in heaven or some weird limbo spirit world where people with animal faces helped to guide souls to their rest or something like that.

But before he could open his mouth to say…. What? “Am I dead”? “Why the fuck are you a rabbit?” Or worse, _flirt_ with him. “Hey maybe you and I could make like rabbits and…”

He didn’t even have time to finish the thought before the stranger had pulled away completely, giving Wooyoung a quick nod and turning to walk away.

Wooyoung stared blankly at the receding white form as it disappeared into the crowds of drunk passers by, and suddenly snapped back into the reality of where he was.

He was still standing in the middle of the road, exactly where he had first landed.

But the bus was gone.

Looking up the street first one way, then the other, Wooyoung confirmed it. There was absolutely no sign of the bus that had been just previously barreling down upon him, and he was standing there in the middle of the road, completely unscathed.

 _Weird_.

Bending over, Wooyoung reached for his phone where it had fallen to the pavement in his clumsiness, muttering nonsensible ramblings about how it better not be broken because this night could _not_ get any worse or _so help me_ , when something caught his eye.

A pocket watch laying flat on the road.

Quickly, Wooyoung grabbed it along with his phone (not a crack in sight thank _god_ ) and scurried off the road and to the relative safety of the sidewalk.

Then he raised the watch up to the glow of the streetlight, letting out a low whistle as the light illuminated its face.

The watch was old and ornate, definitely antique, most likely expensive, and beautiful, really.

Briefly, he wondered how much weed he could get for it if he pawned it off, but upon turning it over in his hands, he realized belatedly that it must belong to the person who just _saved his life_.

Spinning back to where he had last seen the back of his saviour dipping into the crowd of pedestrians, he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled, _“Hey! Your watch!”_

No response.

Of course not, Wooyoung rationalized, there was no way he’d still be around when he’d left several minutes ago.

So, swearing under his breath, Wooyoung shoved it into his pocket and took off down the sidewalk for the second time that night.

The stranger couldn’t be hard to find. He’d only left minutes prior and was dressed rather… unusually. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to find him.

Or so he thought.

However, it wasn’t long before Wooyoung was curled over and gasping for breath, one arm propped against the rough brick of a building for support as he mentally coached himself out of throwing up a pint of vodka in the middle of the sidewalk.

Hauling himself upright, Wooyoung tipped his swirling head against the brick in an attempt to steady his vision enough to survey his surroundings. As his sight slowly drifted back into focus and his stomach slowly eased its aggressive churning, a distinct white form caught his eye.

Blinking very aggressively, Wooyoung made a weird squeal of success at the sight of a familiar pair of rabbit ears bobbing ahead of him through the crowd.

He counted down from 3 before pushing himself off the wall and resuming his pursuit.

Just as he was within shouting distance, however, the ears turned and dipped into a side alley. Only moments later, Wooyoung came to a screeching halt in front of the alley and peered inside.

It was dark, incredibly so, and he could just barely make out the shape of the blurry white figure ahead. At the end of the alley, they turned and vanished once again down what must have been another alley, undetectable from where Wooyoung currently stood.

Not even bothering to weigh the risks presented by a dark, empty alley, Wooyoung simply shrugged, more to himself than to anyone else around him, and entered.

The alley _was_ in fact connected to another, and, finding that alley to be equally dark and ominous, Wooyoung once again shrugged off any perception of danger and pressed on.

It was eerily quiet, he noticed, in the dark passage, away from the bustling city streets. In fact, he could hardly even hear the noise of the city from here. It was as though he wasn’t even in the city at all. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was in the countryside, or a forest, somewhere away from all of this. Somewhere new.

However, while he may be stupid enough to follow a stranger into a strange, secluded alley, he wasn’t stupid enough to actually close his eyes while doing so, so of course this train of thought was purely metaphorical.

The passage still reeked of trash and cigarette smoke and he still had to dodge dark puddles of questionable substances as he walked, and was still very distinctly _here_. In the city. In the same-old.

It was then that his inner monologue slowed to a halt, as he noticed an eerily glowing light up ahead. Most unnerving was the fact that it was moving _closer._

No, wait… _he_ was getting closer to _it._ Glancing down, he reaffirmed that, _yep,_ his feet were in fact still carrying him forwards. Not bothering to stop them, he instead tried to make sense of the source of the light.

The rest of the alley was still draped in darkness, but up ahead the small area glowed… pink.

Drawing nearer, he could eventually make out that the light source was actually a sign, a neon one, hanging high above a doorway which was sunken into the wall, painting the area around it in its unwavering pink glow. It was tucked between a skeletal wrought iron fire escape and a wall – the end of the alley Wooyoung soon discovered – and it had little to no indication of what the place was apart from a purple wood door with a gold knob, and a large neon sign overhead in a glowing pink font which simply read:

_Wonderland_

The dangerous combination of alcohol and adrenaline coursing through Wooyoung’s veins meant that his usual sense of precaution didn’t flare up when it probably should have. Before he’d even realized what he was doing, Wooyoung had a hand raised to the door and was pushing it open, pausing for only a moment to peer behind him into the dark alley and the distant street, before slipping inside.

As the heavy door swung shut behind him, Wooyoung found himself standing in a hallway. The walls were yellowed and decrepit, empty of anything but the occasional chip in the paint, with dim, buzzing fluorescent lighting overhead.

Stepping further inside, he glanced around for any trace of the rabbit faced stranger from before, but the hallway seemed to consist of nothing but a dead end. It wasn’t exactly long – he could see the other end clearly from where he was standing just inside the door – but there were no visible doors or openings along any of the three walls.

Nothing but a worn blue carpet leading to the end of the hallway.

Slowly, Wooyoung crept forward.

 _“Hello?”_ he called, then a little louder, _“Is anyone here?”_

He was met with nothing but the drone of the lights and the creaking groan of old plumbing.

One step followed another, and then another until he was standing at the end of the hallway. It was, indeed a dead end, with not even a door or window to offer any other source of direction. But as he slowly turned a small circle to scan the area, a small door caught his eye that he hadn’t noticed before.

It looked something like a cupboard and was set about halfway up the wall at the very end of the hallway directly opposite the front entrance, around the height of Wooyoung’s torso, and was painted bright teal with gold filagree.

There was a light fixed to the wall just above the cupboard, but it was currently unlit, what seemed to be an alarm of sorts.

But most peculiar was what was _beside_ the cupboard.

A single button surrounded by a metal plate, so large it was nearly the size of Wooyoung’s closed fist. It was black with words printed on top in thick gold letters which read:

_Press Me to Make All Your Problems Go Away_

There was nothing else. No signs, no pamphlets, no flyers advertising what in the actual goshdarn fuck this place even _was._ Wooyoung was even beginning to wonder if the rabbit had even ducked into this door in the first place or if there had been some other exit from the alley that he’d somehow missed in the dark.

Had he been even the slightest bit more sober, Wooyoung’s mental warning systems would probably have been screaming at him right about now and telling him to just keep the dang watch (which would probably pay for at _least_ half his rent this month). Unfortunately, his still-buzzed mind was _fascinated_ with the idea.

All his problems could be gone… with the push of a button?

Day after day of wandering alone from room to room in an apartment far too big for one.

Night after night of hour-long rituals, painting a smile onto his tearstained face before leaving for the night to find something, anyone to make the night pass a little more quickly, to keep the shadows in the corner from creeping to close and the bed from feeling so vast and cold.

Evening after evening of walking home in the cold, too fucking pathetic and scared to take a cab or a bus back home, and lying awake staring at his ceiling too afraid to fall asleep and succumb to the nightmares of metal and blood flashing across his vision until he would eventually wake himself fitfully up in the early hours of the morning with the force of his own sobs.

… Could it possibly be that easy?

But then again, he reasoned, it wasn’t as though he had anything to lose. So, he did the only thing he could think to do in a situation such as this,

And he pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

Impatiently, he pressed it again. Then seven more times in quick succession for good measure.

Letting out an angry grunt he stepped back from the wall and peered once again around the room, but absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary… whatever ordinary even was.

“Hey, what gives?” he called to no one in particular, “I thought you were supposed to solve all my problems? I pushed the button, now what?”

He cut off immediately with an extremely masculine and dignified shriek as a loud, mechanical noise erupted suddenly from behind the cupboard door. Whirling back to face it, he froze, holding his breath as he waited for what would happen next. The mechanical noise ceased, then, the hallway falling back into the eerie silence of before.

Several long, uneventful moments passed as Wooyoung stood there, frozen in place and unsure what to do with himself, eyes fixed on the small cupboard door.

Finally, he convinced himself to just turn and leave, get the hell out of whatever this place was and get back to the safety of his home and the depressing regularity of his life. He had just turned to go, and had made it a quarter of the way towards the door when he was stopped with a high-pitched _ding_ coming from what was undoubtedly the cupboard behind him.

Turning so, incredibly slowly that he couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol, he looked back at the cupboard door.

On the wall above, the light had lit up, and was glowing bright red from its perch above the cupboard.

Waiting to see if anything else was going to happen, and then accepting that nothing else would, Wooyoung shrugged off his nerves and walked back to the cupboard on the wall. Lifting a hand, he grasped the cold brass handle and, finding the small door unlocked, swung it open.

The interior of the cupboard was little more than a square wooden box, and sitting inside the box was a single glass bottle filled with an indiscernible clear liquid.

Reaching inside, Wooyoung pulled out the bottle, finding a paper tag attached to the neck which he turned over and held to the light.

_Drink Me_

For what must have been the thousandth time, Wooyoung scanned the small corridor, brain seeming to have shaken off the alcohol somewhat because it was now positively _screaming_ at him that this was a stupid idea.

But the bottle was small and cool to the touch, and when he held it to the light, the liquid inside seemed to almost _shimmer_ as it swirled around its container in the most inviting way. On top of that, the bottle _was_ labelled in a way that was impossibly clear.

So, hey, who could really blame him?

Carefully, he uncapped the bottle, holding it up briefly to his nose. Upon finding it essentially scentless, he paused, slowly took a deep breath through his nose the way the yoga instructors on Youtube tell you to, shoved aside every single instinct that was pleading with him not to be such a dumbass, and brought the bottle to his lips, tipping it back and swallowing the liquid down in three large gulps.

It tingled on his lips in the strangest way.

Something in the room shifted then, though not physically. The ground didn’t move under his feet, and the walls didn’t creak and groan as they would in an earthquake.

But somehow the walls seemed to move before his eyes, like living creatures or the pieces on a chessboard. It was dizzying, the way the room seemed to swirl around him. Briefly, Wooyoung tried to lean a hand on the wall for support, but he nearly fell flat on his face when it slipped out from between his fingers.

Finding the floor to be a stable and sturdy place, Wooyoung lowered himself down, dropping the glass bottle to the carpet beside him. Tucking his head between his legs and wrapping his arms around his head he focused all his attention into stopping his brain from swimming and the nausea from rising in his stomach at the motion around him.

“What the _fuck?_ ” He groaned into his knees.

After his head had regained a moderate sense of stability, Wooyoung risked a peek up from the safety of his knees.

The room was, as rooms tend to be, completely still and unmoving.

Not entirely trusting his grasp on reality anymore, Wooyoung crawled slowly up to his knees, then his feet, then finally upright.

However, he startled almost immediately upon finding the room absolutely not how he had left it.

There was now a door in front of him, on the wall to the right of the wall on which the cupboard was mounted.

Covering it was a heavy curtain, elaborately embroidered with red and gold thread, but a doorway nonetheless and absolutely not something that had been there only minutes before. Wooyoung rubbed both fists in his eyes until yellow spots formed in his vision and his sight turned fuzzy when he removed them, but as the world drifted back into focus, there was, in fact, a doorway.

He moved to pull aside the curtain, but before his fingers even touched the fabric, a soft _ding_ sounded behind him, and he turned.

Once again, the light above the cupboard was glowing.

Pulling open the cupboard door, Wooyoung pulled out a single white card with two lines of words neatly printed in black font:

_Welcome to Wonderland._

_Please, enjoy your stay._

There were a thousand reasons not to do it.

A thousand reasons to turn and go home.

It was already late, for one, probably well after 2 AM, and he desperately needed to find some water for his poor, throbbing head.

It was stupid, for another. Entering Wonderland in the first place was stupid, pressing the button was stupid, _drinking the mystery liquid_ was stupid, and pushing aside that curtain and finding out whatever the hell was behind it was absolutely idiotic.

But Wooyoung didn’t make a habit of listening to his rational side, even less so when he was tipsy, less than that when he was curious, and least of all when he was bored.

Tonight, Wooyoung was a dangerous combination of all of the above.

So, tucking the card into the tight pocket of his leather pants, fitting it snugly against the pocket watch already there,

Wooyoung pulled open the curtain and stepped through the door.


	2. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an absolute mess.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> xo Versace

Wooyoung was standing in a forest.

It was dark, probably early morning if the faint yellow glow on the horizon was anything to go by. Sheer clouds of fog drifted slowly past, silhouetting the towering forms of trees which seemed to stretch for miles above him. Plant life was everywhere, ferns and creeping ivies and thick, leafy underbrush, fallen logs speckled with mushrooms, and soft pillows of moss beneath his feet.

Through the humid air, he could hear birds calling, their songs echoing down from the ancient treetops.

Taking a long, deep breath through his nose, Wooyoung’s jaw dropped slightly open in surprise.

It smelled divine.

He wasn’t particularly a woodsman, if that wasn’t already quite apparent. Native to the city, the amount of time he’d spent anywhere that wasn’t made of concrete could probably be counted on one hand. The smell of trash and stale, asphalt-tinged air and second-hand smoke was all he’d ever known, nothing like the clean, crisp breeze that brushed past him now.

How was this even possible?

He had walked through a single corridor. Two doors and what had to be less than twenty-five feet of dingy, dark hallway…

And suddenly the city that he’d been for so long immersed in… was nowhere to be found.

Turning back, Wooyoung looked to the curtain from which he had emerged, only to find it…

Gone.

He spun around in a circle. Then again, the other direction.

Splaying his hands out in front of him, he swung blindly at the air around him, part of him terrified that his fingers might touch the fabric of the unseen curtain, and part of him terrified that he wouldn’t.

But his efforts were fruitless. The door was gone, and Wooyoung was standing in a forest he’d never seen before, with absolutely no idea where to go. With a huff, he dropped his hands back down to his side.

For a moment, he just stood there, defeated.

To be fair, he reasoned, he _had_ told himself this would be a terrible idea. Thank you, drunk Wooyoung you absolute dipshit.

Wooyoung raised a hand to his face and slapped himself. He paused at the sting of it, looking down at his hand, before repeating the action again.

 _Shame._ He frowned, punctuating each word with a light slap to his cheeks. _Shame_ – slap - _on_ – slap - _you_. _Opening weird doors and pressing weird buttons and drinking weird liquids from weird bottles and –_

He stopped, hand in midair.

His phone.

Immediately, he dug into his pocket for the device. Upon finally freeing it from the tight, leathery confines of his pants, however, he was met with the sad little icon in the upper corner of the screen that unquestionably meant that he had no cell service.

_Great._

Rather than yeeting his phone at a tree, which is what he very much wanted to do, he calmly took another long deep breath through his nose and instead shoved it back into his pocket.

Unsettled and vaguely weirded out, Wooyoung fisted his fingers into his hair and looked around, first one way, then another.

He remembered his mother always telling him as a child that if he ever happened to become lost in the woods, he should stay put and wait for someone to come find him, but how the hell was anyone supposed to find him here? _Who_ was supposed to find him here?

There weren’t exactly many options left apart from picking a direction and walking.

“Well, if I don’t know where I’m going, I guess it doesn’t matter which way I walk.” He wasn’t sure why he said it aloud, seeing as he was completely and utterly alone, but hearing his own voice spoken aloud did help to ground him, at least a little.

So, that’s what he did.

He stumbled aimlessly along through the fog and the underbrush, passing hundreds of near-identical trees which offered so little sense of direction.

However, after what must have been entire minutes of walking, Wooyoung swore that he had already passed the same trees before.

Was he seriously walking in circles?

Sinking to the forest floor in mild panic and crushing defeat, Wooyoung buried his face in his hands.

He was done for.

He was a dumbass, and he was hopelessly lost in a forest that he’d never seen before, and he was going to die lost and hopelessly alone, and nobody would ever find his body because nobody would even notice he was missing in the first place.

Tears began to prickle at the back of his eyes, and Wooyoung decided to not to bother holding them back. What was the point? What was the point of anything anymore if he was just going to die in the woods?

But then, a faint sound drifted over to him where he was slumped in a sad little heap on the mossy ground, causing Wooyoung’s head to shoot up.

_Music?_

In mere seconds, Wooyoung was back on his feet, trying to locate the direction the sound was coming from.

The closer he got to the music, the clearer it became, shifting from a faint indiscernible noise that slightly raised and lowered in tone and pitch into the clear and distinct sounds of violin, harp, and cello.

Following the sound brought Wooyoung to a clearing where the trees gradually grew fewer in number and the underbrush turned into a manicured lawn.

_Civilization._

Wooyoung nearly cried at the thought.

Instead, he rolled his shoulders back and pressed on, searching for the source of the noise and, ultimately, someone who could help him get out of here.

Eventually, he arrived at a garden.

It was significantly tidier than the forest before it, with an abundance of colourful flowers, shrubs, fountains, neatly trimmed hedges, and topiaries. Rosebushes created a walkway of sorts, with their jagged thorns and full-petaled flowers. Trellises were tucked here and there into corners of the garden, morning glories and vines entwined between their wooden slats.

It was beautiful and serene, still as the morning, but rich and vibrant and _alive._

It was then that the music suddenly stopped, replaced instead by a voice, low and smooth and distinctly male, calling to him.

_“Over here!”_

Turning towards the voice, Wooyoung cautiously stepped around a particularly tall hedge and found himself standing in the middle of a… _tea party_?

Located at what seemed to be the center of the garden, was a table, long and thin and draped in a white linen tablecloth. It was heaped with flowers and silver platters, pastry towers crowded with cakes and small pastries with colourful frostings, danishes and croissants and jams and jellies and butter and decorative teapots steaming with the liquid inside.

Three place settings were arranged along each of the long sides of the table, with an additional single setting located at each of the two short ends, making eight in total. Each setting had an array of delicate white china, shining silverware, and delicate porcelain tea cups, decorated with gold flake and hand painted flowers, with matching saucers.

There were candles everywhere, perched on tall candelabras and candlesticks atop the table, hanging from the tree branches overhead, and clustered in eclectic bunches of lanterns scattered across the yard.

The table was surrounded by eight white metal chairs decked in soft pink cushions, but it appeared that only one was currently in use.

Standing at the head of the long table, directly across from where Wooyoung now stood, was a man.

He was extremely tall and extremely thin, with silver hair sweeping over one eye, and a wide smile revealing a row of perfect white teeth.

He was wearing a crimson velvet suit overtop a flowy, feminine white blouse and a black and gold brocade waistcoat. Around his throat was a black lace cravat tied into a long loose bow, and in one pocket, a white handkerchief folded precisely. His hands, resting lightly on the table from where he stood above it, were covered in a pair of crisp, white gloves.

Most impressive, however, was the black velvet top hat perched on his head, tipped forward slightly at a jaunty angle.

“Welcome, my dear,” The man said through his strange, unwavering smile,

“I’m so _thrilled_ you could join us.”

The man gestured broadly around the empty table.

“Please, have a seat, have a seat!” He scurried around the long table and pulled out the chair, motioning for Wooyoung to sit.

Wooyoung, stunned briefly to silence, nodded dumbly and took the offered seat as the man whirled back around and resumed his place at the opposite end, directly across the long table from Wooyoung.

“We’ve been expecting you!” Said the stranger, eyes twinkling with excitement, “You are Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung startled at that. He must have been gaping at the man like a dead fish for a second too long because the smile faltered momentarily on the stranger’s face.

“… You _are_ Wooyoung, yes?”

Snapping back to his senses, Wooyoung nodded again.

“That – that’s me, yeah,” he coughed, “And… and who are you?”

Was he _supposed_ to already know this man? Oh god, had he _met him_ before? He tried to wrack his brain for a name to connect with the unfamiliar face before him, but thankfully the man spared him from any further embarrassment and beamed at him.

“I am Seonghwa,” he fucking _tipped_ his ridiculous velvet top hat, “And I am a hatter.”

Ah.

Yes.

That would explain the…

Hat.

It, unfortunately, explained absolutely nothing else about this situation.

Wooyoung opened his mouth in an attempt to voice the several questions on the immediate forefront of his mind, when the hatter continued on with his introductions.

“This,” he gestured to the empty seat beside him, “is Mr. Kim. Beside him, Mr. Song and Mr. Jeong,” He held up a hand to the side of his mouth so he could whisper in mock secrecy, “They’re newlyweds, that’s why they’re so cute.”

But Wooyoung had already stopped paying attention to what the hatter was saying. He was, instead, preoccupied with trying to figure out exactly _whom_ Seonghwa was referring to. Warily, he eyed one vacant seat after the next.

Maybe the other guests were invisible?

He discreetly waved a hand above the seat closest to his, but his fingers only touched empty air. Nope.

Maybe they were just really small?

He only noticed the hatter was still talking when Seonghwa abruptly stopped talking. Somewhat guiltily, Wooyoung sat up straight in his chair, inconspicuously dropping the tablecloth from where he’d just had it raised to peer underneath the table. (The guests weren’t underneath the table.)

“It everything alright?” Seonghwa smiled, a concerned crease to his brow.

“Yes!” Wooyoung quickly nodded, “Excellent. Fantastic. Great. I was just, uh…” a plate of cream puffs caught his eye, “Hungry!” Wooyoung abruptly snapped his mouth shut before he had the chance to make any more of a fool of himself.

However, Seonghwa’s eyes widened like the obnoxiously pretty saucers at that, “ _Hungry_! Of course! I nearly forgot!”

Wooyoung flinched at the genuine distress in the man’s tone.

“Here, Mr. Choi,” the hatter raised a glass plate of assorted pastries towards the empty seat to his left, “Please pass these down to our distinguished guest.”

Wooyoung simply watched in sheer amazement and mild horror as the hatter promptly let go of the plate to instead turn and fetch a teapot. The sound of shattering glass resounded throughout the garden as the plate fell to the metal chair beneath it and broke immediately.

Seonghwa, however, didn’t even seem to _notice,_ already having busied himself with topping up the (already full) cups of tea.

“My, Mr. Jeong, are you sure you’re up for a fourth cup? You’ll never sleep tonight!” he paused for a moment, a blush creeping across his face, “While I’m _sure_ that might be the case, Mr. Song, I’m afraid I didn’t particularly _want_ to hear about you and your husband’s plans for the… evening.”

Wooyoung, meanwhile, had been distracted by watching the hatter top up the other… “guests’” … tea. The cups being already full didn’t even seem to register to the hatter as he merely added more, until the gold liquid seeped over the edges of the cups and spilled into the saucers, several drops staining the tablecloth in stark brown rings against the white fabric.

Deciding it was probably best to mind his own business, Wooyoung turned his attention to the pastry tower before him. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was hungry; he was pretty sure he hadn’t even bothered ordering dinner the night before. Very shortly, his plate was nearly overflowing with sweets, cupcakes and scones and tarts and cookies of all sizes and colours.

With a mild amount of caution, since, to be fair, he still didn’t trust this place entirely despite how pleasant Seonghwa at least seemed to be, Wooyoung raised a tart to his mouth and took a careful bite.

He honest-to-god _moaned_ the second the pasty touched his tongue.

Slapping a hand over his mouth, Wooyoung shot a glance towards Seonghwa but found him to still be distracted in his conversation with the other table attendants.

Wooyoung returned to his pastry, albeit with a bit more caution than before. He hadn’t realized how downright _famished_ he was until he started eating, and one tart quickly turned to five before his eyes landed on the _cream puffs_. Hey, he was a simple man with a passion for whipped cream. We all have weaknesses.

With one in safely nestled in each cheek, lips protruding as he struggled to chew, Wooyoung was just about to begin on a piece of cake when he very suddenly realized that the mindless chatter from across the table had stopped.

Tearing his eyes from the cake before him, Wooyoung found the hatter watching him in silence, tea cup hovering in front of his mouth, as he stared at Wooyoung with a poorly disguised look of vague terror.

Meeting Wooyoung’s eyes, he seemed to shake himself from his daze, smile awkwardly flickering back into place.

Becoming slightly self-conscious, Wooyoung dabbed at his face with a pink cloth napkin, harshly swallowing the offending pastries.

“Oh, Mr. Choi Jr,” the hatter, thankfully turned his gaze to an empty chair to Wooyoung’s right, “Tell our guest about that thing you heard about at that place you did that stuff at.”

But Wooyoung’s attention had already been diverted the moment his sights fell upon Seonghwa’s top hat. Or rather, what _used_ to be his top hat. It, in fact, was no longer the obnoxious velvet top hat from before, when he had first met the man.

Now, it was a black newsboy cap.

Blinking a few times, Wooyoung briefly wondered if he should mention it, but ultimately decided that Seonghwa was undoubtedly a few fries short of a happy meal, and it would probably be safest to just ignore it and sneak away at the earliest opportunity.

Speaking of whom, Seonghwa had since gotten himself into a heated argument with “Mr. Kim” (“But if avocados are not a vegetable, then why are they _green_ , Mr. Kim?” “…” “Yes, this is a key lime pie, why do you ask?”), and he had once again seemed to have forgotten Wooyoung’s existence at the table.

Exhausted, confused, still hungry and a little bit tipsy, Wooyoung dutifully went back to working on his piece of cake.

It was a white cream cake with whole strawberries inside and soft powdered sugar on top. The cake was so delightfully light and fluffy, it nearly melted on Wooyoung’s tongue.

Looking back up, however, Wooyoung nearly spat the confection clear across the table, instead settling for choking on it loudly instead.

Seonghwa’s hat had changed again.

The hatter was fucking with him. He had to be.

To test his theory, Wooyoung quickly turned away from Seonghwa for one literal second, nearly giving himself whiplash in the process.

He was expecting, at the very least, to catch him in the act, hand on the brim of his strangely trendy fedora, about to remove it from his head.

But upon turning back to the hatter, Wooyoung’s smug smile immediately fell.

A bowler cap.

 _“What the fuck…?”_ he breathed, panic building in his chest.

He wasn’t entirely sure why this of all things was what finally decided to push his fight of flight senses into gear, but he was suddenly ready to either sprint away as fast as he could or pass out. He wasn’t even sure if either option was particularly helpful right about now.

Meanwhile, the hatter paused his monologue, noticing Wooyoung’s apparent distress.

“Is something the matter?” He asked, genuine confusion in his pouted lips.

“I… um… you… hat?” He babbled. You know. Like a moron.

Wooyoung had heard once that when your body senses danger, it cuts off the use of unnecessary functions, to preserve energy to get out of there as efficiently as possible.

Words, apparently, were the first to go.

And yet, the hatter’s face only brightened even _more._

“Oh! Do you like it?” He beamed, hand shooting up to touch the short brim of the smooth black bowler cap.

“It’s new!”

“Yeah…” Wooyoung swallowed, “I see that.”

Seeming to sense Wooyoung’s sudden hesitation, Seonghwa offered a platter towards him.

“Scone?”

Instinctively, Wooyoung began to reach for the tray before suddenly remembering the solid weight of the watch in his pocket, his hand abruptly snapping back to his side.

What he was even playing along for?

He didn’t have to stay. He didn’t have to humor the strange man that he’d literally only just met. He didn’t have to succumb himself to a tea party of imaginary people.

But he _could_ try to figure out what the hell was going on.

The hatter had just gotten up from his seat to begin pouring the fifth round of tea when Wooyoung stood up from his seat at the table.

“Um, Seonghwa?” he began, clearing his throat.

The hatter simply smiled up at him with eyebrows raised as if to say _go on._ But Wooyoung shook his head, leaning over to gently remove the teapot from the hatter’s hands, where he had been flooding a place setting with an overflowing cup of tea.

“Seonghwa,” he began again, softly, carefully, “Do you know that there’s nobody else at the table?”

The hatter’s eyes grew distant, his huge smile wavering slightly. He furrowed his brow in confusion.

“What do you mean?” he whispered.

Wooyoung gestured to the table, “Those chairs are empty. There’s nobody else here.”

Something shifted then, the air seeming to still around them and the birdsong he hadn’t even noticed until now completely ceasing as though the very birds themselves were waiting for the hatter’s response with baited breath.

And in the way that unwavering, unsettling smile finally slipped from Seonghwa’s face.

Slowly, he turned, eyes slowly scanning the empty seats around them, but seeming for the first time to see them as they truly were.

“Ah,”

When Seonghwa turned back to him, tears were glistening in the corners of his eyes, his smile trying so desperately to return, trembling, to his lips.

“So they are…”

The hatter plucked at the uneaten food heaped on a plate beside Wooyoung.

“They never do tend to stay for long, do they?”

Wooyoung had no idea what that meant.

“But what about you?” Suddenly, the hatter turned, stepping closer and crowding into Wooyoung’s space.

“Will _you_ stay?”

Wooyoung sidestepped him, ducking away from the hatter’s overwhelming presence.

“Sorry, I really can’t. I have to go.”

“Go?” Seonghwa smiled, confused. “Why, wherever do you have to be?”

“It’s getting late,” Wooyoung pulled the watch free from his pocket and held it up, “I have to give this back to someone so I can get home.”

“Home?” The hatter asked, perplexed, “But you’re _here._ Why would you ever want to leave Wonderland?”

Wooyoung’s mouth hung open in silence at that, trying to pluck an excuse from the air, but was immediately distracted by a gloved hand cupping his chin and pulling it upwards until he was staring directly into Seonghwa’s brightly painted eyes.

The distance between them had somehow shrunken drastically, and Wooyoung was suddenly all too aware of the inviting scent of strawberry drifting from the other man’s lips.

“Stay,” he murmured, before pressing a kiss to Wooyoung’s mouth, “Just a little longer.”

A thousand thoughts ran through Wooyoung’s head then.

Most of them telling him, screaming at him, to go, to leave, to get away from this unnervingly cryptic man.

But then Seonghwa leaned in again and kissed him slowly. As though testing the waters, his smooth tongue gently brushed at the seam of Wooyoung’s lips.

It was an impulse, really. After so many months of seeking out strangers night after night to fill the hole inside him that just would not allow him to be alone, it had become an impulse. After so many nights of allowing things to happen, allowing hands to explore him, allowing tongues to play with his own, allowing himself to give in and succumb –

It was impulse the way he snapped at the warmth of the hatter’s hands on him.

The way he allowed Seonghwa to lead him backwards until the table pressed up against the back of his legs, the way he tilted his head to give him better access, the way he gasped and whined in response to every movement the man made.

It was impulse the way he let Seonghwa lift him up onto the table, his legs automatically coming to wrap around the hatter and pull him even closer.

It was impulse when Wooyoung tugged off the lace cravat, unbuttoned the brocade waistcoat, tore open the silk blouse.

It was impulse the way his hands and lips sought out the solid porcelain skin beneath, the firm planes of Seonghwa’s chest, the column of his neck.

It was instinct the way he trailed his fingers down, down, until they came to rest on a stiff leather belt, instinct the way he began to unfasten it without even needing to see what he was doing.

But instinct only goes so far.

“What does this mean?”

Wooyoung stopped short, suddenly uncertain. He pulled away, but Seonghwa didn’t allow him to go too far, his arms encircling Wooyoung’s waist and holding him loosely there.

Wooyoung frowned, “Who says it has to mean anything?”

“ _Everything_ means something,” Seonghwa explained matter-of-factly, his dark eyes twinkling in the candlelight, “You may call it meaningless, when in fact it just means very little to you, or that you don’t particularly care for it, but everything has at lease _some_ meaning.”

A warm hand slipped underneath Wooyoung’s shirt, a flat palm traveling upwards and only stopping to softly stroke against Wooyoung’s nipple, making him gasp and cling to the hatter in surprise.

Seonghwa’s smile grew, “Why, Wooyoung? Why does sex mean so little to you? And if it means so little, then pray tell, why are you so _desperate_ for it?”

His words were punctuated with a sharp pinch to the raised bud. Wooyoung let out a shuddery moan.

Seonghwa studied him for a moment, eyes calculating and intense.

The hand slid back out of Wooyoung’s shirt.

“I don’t think that you’re being entirely honest with yourself about how little it means to you when it seems to be such a high priority.”

“W-what makes you say that?” he huffed.

“It seems that it means very much to you, dreadfully much,” Seonghwa’s expression softened, “But it seems that you’ve become confused as to what exactly the meaning is. It certainly doesn’t mean to you what it once did. I know that much. So, what is it then, Wooyoung?” He tilted his head, “What _does_ it mean?”

For a moment, Wooyoung was silent, but Seonghwa didn’t push.

“An escape,” he finally murmured, faintly, “A way to feel _something_ , anything at all.”

Seonghwa just watched him, arms still wrapped loosely around Wooyoung’s waist. Then he smiled, small and gentle before leaning in and leaving a soft, lingering kiss on Wooyoung’s cheek, just beside his lips. Wooyoung instinctively chased them, but the hatter chuckled, gloved hand coming up to lightly cup his chin.

“I’m not what you came here to find, am I?”

It wasn’t sad. It wasn’t angry.

It was understanding.

“… No,” Wooyoung choked out.

Why did his chest suddenly feel so tight?

“What is it that you’re looking for, Jung Wooyoung?”

“I… I don’t know,” Wooyoung’s gaze dropped to his lap.

“But you _do_ ,” Seonghwa’s hand lightly nudged his chin upwards, until he was staring into the hatter’s earnest gaze.

“There’s something inside of you, leading you, guiding you. It brought you here, Wooyoung. It compels you. You may not always be aware of its power, but you feel its push.”

Lightly, he stroked a finger along Wooyoung’s cheekbone, his chin, his lip.

“What is it, Wooyoung? What do you seek?”

The empty apartment. The empty bed.

The silent rooms and gaping emptiness inside his chest.

That summer night nearly one year ago that changed _everything_ in a matter of seconds.

The searching. The endless searching night after night at the clubs and the bars and the strangers’ bedrooms, seeking out _something_ that only ever remained just out of reach, like the stars in the sky so visible but so unreachable.

What _was_ he searching for?

“… Answers.”

Tears prickled at the back of his eyes, welling up and blurring his vision,

“I just want… to understand.”

Seonghwa smiled, dabbing at a stray tear as it trailed down Wooyoung’s face.

“Then perhaps you’re on the right path after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know :)
> 
> I promise this story is in fact angsty, and it does in fact have a plot despite how neither of those seems true at this point in time lmao
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's read and left a comment or kudos so far!! I suck at responding to comments, but please know that I freak out and scream a little every time I get one <3
> 
> Stay safe and warm, and I'll see you next week!!
> 
> xo Versace

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!  
> It would mean the world to me if you leave a kudos or a comment, and if you would like, you can chat with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/thx_its_versace), [Tumblr](https://thanks-its-versace.tumblr.com/), or [Curious Cat!](https://curiouscat.qa/thx_its_versace/)  
> See you soon!


End file.
